Shiny Baubles
by SuchAGoodGirl
Summary: Now a two-shot. Slight references to season 4. Consider this as my Christmas gift to you, the reader.
1. Chapter 1

It occurs to me that I am currently participating in a culturally significant event, as I sit facing Angela, sipping my coffee and listening intently to her conversation. It is a brief interlude from the stresses of our location, and for many people (although not I), the time of year.

A recent session that Booth and I had with Sweets asked us to consider how good a listener we each are. I had always assumed myself to be so. After all, our ability to listen is a basic human sense and, despite impairment in a minority of the populous, a skill that is necessary to exist in society today.

He explained that, in order to truly listen to others, there must be no other thoughts disrupting our attention. I have exceptional focus and as such thoroughly expected to excel in this field.

However, when people talk about issues that affect them - where the laws of math and science do not apply - I make connections in my head, trying desperately to relate their experiences to my own, so that I may empathize with them.

I am not a good listener.

The implication that when we think about ourselves, and our own likely responses to the situation, is that we are not focusing on others is very true. I find it too easy to detract from a conversation and lose myself within my own thought's. Something to which I am usually oblivious. Not on this occasion however.

She has brought me here with the intent and purpose of Christmas shopping. What we are actually doing is nothing more than an indulgence into what Angela might define as retail therapy. Needlessly purchasing material goods to achieve a sense of fulfillment. The failed relationships that have tormented her in recent months have caused her to value perspectives of those around her as she seeks to understand why she fears commitment.

I understand those fears. It is illogical to give all of yourself to another person and trust them to care for you in such a way that is all encompassing.

At the center of the mall is a large Norwegian Spruce, some five meters tall. And despite the almost clinical lighting of the busy shopping mall it endeavors to twinkle. To sparkle and shimmer, attracting children and adults alike. A short distance away there is a elaborately dressed 'grotto' complete with it's own imitation Santa and elves.

Elves is wrong. What I actually mean is erotically dressed young women, that appear to have been employed purely on the basis of invoking a sexual response in those fathers left to attend to their children. If I am wrong in my assumption then explain to me why the queue is dominated by males with their pre adolescents.

"Bren? Are you still with me?"

Other female companions would be angry or upset at my obvious distraction but Angela's tone is soft. She understands me, and that in these circumstances I am perhaps not the best friend she could have. I myself am in no position to offer out advice on relationships or matters of the heart. But still, she knows I am here. And that I am not a good listener.

Unlike her.

"The tree." I say, not quite understanding myself why I find it inexplicably difficult to look away.

"It's pretty" she adds. "With all those shiny baubles."

Shiny baubles. The words hit me hard. Like a substantial volume of bricks.

"No" I reply instinctively.

Her expression questions my assertions as I turn to face her again.

"The tree" I explain, "would still be beautiful without the false trimmings. The artificial adornments that make it stand out to others do not thrill me in any way. It's sheer natural beauty and grace is outstanding alone."

My mind drifts once more and I am recalling a memory. Booth's birthday. The night that it seemed that he carried the weight of the word on his shoulders. And the night that, in front of all our friends and colleagues, I made a vow.

"_And I promise that my eyes will never be caught by those shiny baubles again."_

In making the birthday toast to Booth I was proud to call him my partner. I wanted everyone to know just how special he is. To see what I see. To understand just how important he is to me. Was it the fear of losing him again that made me realize this fact myself?

Sometimes, when we speak, or write, we do not fully realize the implication of our words until they have been offered out to the universe, and those who were listening have had opportunity to interpret our meaning. As a writer I have an editor, who looks at every single word I produce, to ensure it is relevant, and that it makes sense in every context. What I say through my novels is controlled.

What I say in the moment is not.

Sometimes we only hear ourselves as the words pass our lips.

That single sentence has played on my mind for some weeks now.

It was uncharacteristic of me to accept what Jared said of his brother without question. Perhaps I had foolishly believed that his deployment here in DC, coupled with an insight into both Booth and Cam had instigated him as an ally to our team. Our family.

Regardless of my reasoning, I was wrong. I know Booth. Better than anyone else. But it's not enough. I need to know more.

Is this what Angela insinuated when she said she would wait for me to catch up to my own reality?

My instincts are inspiring me to look back down at the queueing patrons by the grotto and I notice a very familiar little boy, patiently waiting with his father. What is the statistical likelihood of Booth and I being at the same location on one of the very few days either of us are not working? I pull my attention back to Angela. There has been something on my own mind I need to share.

"I am considering not going away for the holidays this year. I think it would be preferable...."

I stop myself abruptly. Do you see? It's happening again. The words we speak always need to be considered carefully if we are to convey the correct meaning fully. Smiling, I take a breath and continue, slowly, making every syllable count.

"I would very much like, this year, to spend the holidays with family."

I glance back down to the grotto. Parker is sat on Santa's knee, his father crouched beside him, sharing the moment. This is a picture of happiness, and I wish I could freeze time. I shake my head gently as I consider how irrational my thought process has become. Without warning, the focus of my attention stands and turns his head sharply towards me, and I have less than a second to decide if I should look away.

I don't, and his gaze meets mine as he flashes his best charm smile in my direction. I wave timidly, and he replies with his own frantic arm movements as he alerts Parker to my presence, and indicates that they are coming up to meet us.

Us. I am reminded how bad a listener I am as Angela speaks. She has taken the time to digest my words and observe my actions in order to compose her response to my statement.

"I'm glad, Bren." She pulls my hands into her own. "It's about time. You deserve to be happy."

Angela is a very good listener. Even when I don't say a word.

_A/N - reviews are like early Christmas presents. Oh who am I kidding. They are so much better!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks to everone who reviewed the last chapter. This was meant to just be a oneshot, but what follows just wouldn't leave me alone.  
_

_Think of this as redemption for my other story, Making Babies._

_Disclaimer - Not mine._

_Enjoy. And Merry Christmas._

* * *

"Am I too late?" I ask, as Booth opens his door to me, the warmth spilling out.

"For what? Did we organize something?" he questions, bewildered as to my presence.

I see Parker behind him, excitedly pulling ornaments from a cardboard box as he sings along to seasonal music playing quietly from the stereo.

"The tree. You were planning to decorate it with Parker this evening. I thought maybe..."

His expression softens as my purpose for calling becomes apparent. He looks back at his son with an emotion that I cannot quite place. Something reserved for parent and child. Something I do not yet understand.

"I'm sorry, I'm intruding." I turn to leave. His hand settles on my shoulder, stopping me.

"Bones, just come in already. You're letting in the cold." He is grinning at me now, as he ushers me inside. "Parker, look who's come to help."

"Bones!"

His little boy rushes towards me elatedly and, for a moment, I consider the impact will most likely knock me to the floor.

I am wrong.

Booth places his hand on my back to steady me and when Parker loosens his hold from my waist, his father slides my coat from my shoulders. As he turns to hang it in the closet he speaks to me in a tone I interpret as mock annoyance. "Your hands are like ice. You drove right? Does your heater not work?"

"I may not have turned it up." Or perhaps the fact I stood outside for at least ten minutes debating whether to knock, might be responsible for my unnaturally cool body temperature.

"It's freezing out there, Bones. Are you trying to get hypothermia?" He pulls my hands into his own and rubs them together in an attempt to generate heat. "Go sit by the fire. I'll make us a hot drink."

"That would be... very nice," I admit. I look around, taking in the décor that is uniquely Booth, as I settle myself in a well worn, yet comfortable chair by the fireside.

"Do you think it might snow?" Parker asks, clambering up beside me. "If it did then we could build a snowman."

"I think it just might" I confirm, pulling him up onto my lap.

He considers this for a minute then asks me "Why?"

I explain to him that, if it is cold enough, water vapor in the air forms as tiny ice crystals. When I try to emphasize the importance of nucleators helping the water molecules coalesce his eyes glaze, and he fidgets on my knee. Reminding myself that he's just a little boy I consider how my father would explain in a way Parker can comprehend.

"The ice crystals," I say, "move around inside the cloud, and more tiny water particles condense onto it and freeze into more crystals. This collection of individual crystals forms a snow flake. And as it grows heavier, it falls toward the earth. If it stays cold enough the whole way down, the flake will still be frozen when it reaches the ground."

"Wow"

"And" I add, "in most parts of the world, rain generally starts out as snow but melts as it falls through the atmosphere, because it is very, very cold at cloud level, even in the summertime."

"Cool" he replies, jumping down as Booth reenters the room holding two large mugs.

"OK! Here we go. I made us hot chocolate." He handed me one of the steaming mugs. "Hey. How come you've stopped trimming the tree, Bud?"

"Bones was explaining to me why it snows."

Booth looks at me with one of his trademark smiles. "Oh! She was, was she? So could you explain to me?"

"Sure I could, Dad. But that's not getting the decorations done, is it?" Even I can recognize Parker's tone is mock sarcastic.

Booth laughs as Parker enthusiastically dives back into the box of decorations. He turns to me, holding my gaze. "So..." he smiles. "My son the meteorologist?"

"I was just.... enriching." I glance down briefly at the hot chocolate, warming my hands. "Like you asked."

He nods his head slowly "Like I asked. Thanks, Bones."

He settles himself on the floor next to me and we both sip at our drinks as Parker closely examines everything he removes from the box.

"So..." I ask, smiling nervously, looking at the freshly cut evergreen that now dominates the corner of the room. "This tree. Where do we start exactly?"

"We finish our hot chocolate, 'cause you can't rush something this important. Then...."

"We put the lights on!" Parker interrupts.

"Right! And then what, Bud?"

"All the stringy things, like tinsel, and beads." Parker pauses, his eyes filled with delight. "Then we can put all the other stuff on."

"And last of all?" Booth questions his son knowingly.

"The Angel, right at the very top."

"Sound like fun." I comment.

"Yeah, it is, Bones. It really is." We share a smile and look at one another just a little too long.

Together, we spend the next few hours trimming the tree to Parker's specification. I cannot help but consider how much this feels like family. Finally, Booth lifts Parker high, allowing him to place the angel in situ.

"Good job everyone," Booth congratulates. Then turning to me he asks "so what do you want to do now?"

"I should go. Now the tree is done. That was the reason I came."

"Really?" He raises his eyebrows. "That was the only reason?"

I find myself lost for words and welcome the distraction when Parker calls out. "Hey!" he shouts, his face pressed against the window pane. "It's snowing."

We all look out at the snow, falling thick and fast. "You can't drive in that" Booth proclaims.

"I'm a very competent driver, Booth."

"Maybe. But what about all the other idiots out there?"

I sigh audibly. I know I will not win this argument. "So what do you suggest?"

"We could dance?" He turns up the volume of the stereo. _Dean Martin._ It is an old song I recognize.

"Baby, it's cold outside." Booth confirms, with a wide grin.

"I know," I murmur quietly.

He pulls me into his arms and I shiver.

"Cold?" He does not wait for my response, but simply pulls me closer.

From the corner of my eye the newly decorated tree attempts to divert my attention, with all its shiny baubles and shimmering stars. I'm not making that mistake again. My attention is firmly fixed on the man before me.

Unless.....

As we dance around the room, my eyes flick across the ceiling, searching.

"What are you looking for?" he asks, intrigued.

"You don't appear to have any mistletoe."

Booth pulls back, regarding me with curiosity. "Want me to go get some?"

"It is a tradition."

* * *

_A/N -__ Hope you all have a wonderful holiday!_


End file.
